Ha! I remember the day I learned that lesson also. In the final days of my first marriage, I always felt so young and spry and full of rage that I thought I could handle that guy. When the showdown came, I went down like a balsa-wood airplane.
Every day, three women are murdered in the US as victims of intimate partner violence
85% of the victims of IPV, fatal and non-fatal, are women, but it’s not a men vs women issue. It’s a perpetrator vs vulnerable issue. As a male member of the select 15%, I ascribe my own vulnerability as stemming from a need to be validated by being “worthy” of a relationship (since losers and loners are synonymous).
Post-recovery and back in the dating world, I noticed how now I was less motivated by “wow, she’s pretty,” or “wow, she’s got it all together,” since I’d learned how ugly things could get despite those, and more “wow, she’s a genuine, kind person.” I myself had to endure a lot of “wow, he’s really guarded,” along with the usual suspicion that goes with that, but have no regrets.
My brothers taught me to fight. Just in the course of siblings growing up in a house together.
I learned how to punch early to the point my Daddy had to step in and teach me anger control.
I thought I was one tough cookie.
Til my baby brother got about 14. I hate to say it, but I tormented that boy for a few years.
At 14, he’d had enough.
I picked on him one last time and he knocked me on my ass.
I said, right then my skinny butt was no match for any guy.
I learned to be more careful with who I associated with.
(Baby boy forgave me)
Sincere congratulations on coming out the other side. And moving past.